The Wearing of the Gray
by GoldeneyedJohnnycake
Summary: "Johnny sure did like that book, although he didn't know anything about the Civil War and even less about plantations, and I had to explain a lot of it to him. It amazed me how Johnny could get more meaning out of some of the stuff than I could- I was supposed to be the deep one." One-shot.


**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. The title of this story is taken from an old Reconstruction era song. It's a fascinating work in its own right. I would strongly suggest you take a listen. Enjoy!_**

"I bet they were cool ol' guys. They remind me of Dally." A smile spread across my face as I imagined him riding into the thick of battle, clothed in drab gray uniform. He would've made a good soldier. Those Southern gentlemen had nothing on Dally.

"Dally?" Pony struggled to bite back an astonished laugh. "Shoot, he ain't got any more manners than I do. And you saw how he treated those girls the other night. Soda's more like them Southern boys." His eyes softened into sadness as he thought of his brothers. I bet he missed 'em bad.

"Yeah…" I thought for a moment, remembering something I'd seen a few months before. "In the manners bit, and the charm, too, I guess, but one night I saw Dally gettin' picked up by the fuzz, and he kept real cool and calm the whole time. They was gettin' him for breakin' out the windows in the school building, and it was Two-Bit who did that. And Dally knew it. But he just took the sentence without battin' an eye, or even denyin' it. That's gallant." My voice broke slightly, and I didn't say anything else.

Dally was rough, sure, but which one of us wasn't? Pony had used his switch in biology class once, and it scared a girl pretty bad. We were rough because we had to be; we had no choice. But we were also gallant, like Dally takin' the sentence for Two-Bit. He'd rather be put in the cooler himself than rat out a buddy. I missed him more'n anyone else. I caught a glimpse of myself in the cracked dusty mirror and wondered what he'd think if he could see us now. We looked like little kids, too scared and thin for our own good. I laid down on a pew, shoving aside the pile of dead spiders, and pulled my jacket over my shoulders. _I wish Pony would lend me Dally's jacket; he can use mine._ I thought about askin' him to trade, but I didn't wanna take it from him. Dally had given it to him, after all. That was another gallant thing he'd done. It surprised me that Pony couldn't see it.

I dreamed of a rumble that night. A rumble where we were all in gray, holding tattered flags and switches against a sea of dark blue foes. Dally went in first, leading us into the thick of it, howling out a Rebel yell as he marched us to certain death. I watched as we followed and fought like knights, noble and gallant against the enemy, even stronger in death. I'd never died in a dream before, so it was quite a shock when my breath rushed out of my chest and a hot sticky redness stained my uniform. The last thing I remember seeing is that kid's face as he died too, his rings limp and useless on lifeless fingers. I was drenched in cold sweat when I shook myself awake, hoping I hadn't screamed or nothin'. I'd have hated to wake Pony up.

I lit a cigarette to calm down, careful not to smoke it too fast on an empty stomach. I hated getting sick, and getting sick off cigarettes is the worst. I couldn't see any light outside, so it probably wasn't daylight yet. I settled down near Pony and finished the cigarette, crushing it beneath my shoe before laying down next to him to go back to sleep. He pulled an arm around me, letting Dally's jacket fall across my back too. _Just what I wanted._ I thought, yawning and shivering despite the warmth of the wool. I couldn't get that kid's face outta my mind. How he looked when he died, all angry for a second, then pained, then sad, then gone. Just how he'd looked the other night in Tulsa.

It took a long time to get back to sleep, but I saw that book spread on the floor, where we'd left it. I thought about those Southern gentlemen; Dally and Soda, how different they were, those two. But we were both right- they were gallant in their own ways; Soda had manners and charm, Dally had a code of honor. I thought about those many things before sleep took over, and that maybe someday I could be gallant too, running courageously alongside Dally into battle while wearing of the gray.


End file.
